he said, because her voice was getting dangerously squeaky. “It’s just money.”
“What the hell does that mean? Where—”
“Hannah!” Beth piped up. “I finished.”
Smooth as silk, Hannah spun around with a smile and said, “Wonderful. Good girl.”
“Did I eat enough?”
“I’m done too!” Josh said around a mouthful of porridge. “Did I eat enough?”
Nate couldn’t even be offended by the fact that his kids apparently considered Hannah the highest authority in the household. Frankly, at this point, so did he. “You both ate enough,” he said. “Go upstairs and get dressed. Neatest uniform gets a sticker on their chart.”
“Yay!” Josh scrambled down from his seat, closely followed by Beth, and they ran off as if it was some kind of race. Like they hadn’t both gotten a sticker every morning, ever since Hannah had put those charts up. Ah, the spirit of competition.
The minute they left the room, the inquisition began.
“Are you a drug dealer?” she demanded.
“Are you serious?”
“Are you an arms dealer?”
He sighed and put down his coffee. “You’re serious.”
“It doesn’t seem likely that you’re managing exotic and illegal operations from the heart of a countryside small town, but I wouldn’t put it past you. I still have no idea what it is you do all day.”
“Hannah. I’m a photographer.”
“Photographers don’t sit in offices all the time!” she insisted. “And they don’t make any money! According to my calculations, and assuming you make the bulk of your profit via works rather than events, your annual income shouldn’t exceed £30,000! And that’s me being generous, Nate. Generous!”
Considering the time, and his headache, and the fact that he’d been feeling shit about his work—or rather, his lack of work—recently, Nate should’ve found this conversation irritating. Should’ve.
Instead, talking to Hannah felt like recharging his batteries. That narrow look she gave him, the way she folded her arms like a scolding parent, made a smile creep onto his face. And the fact that she’d be outraged if he laughed only made the urge even harder to fight.
“If I confess,” he said, “will you call CrimeLine with an anonymous tip?
Her mouth opened, then closed, then opened again. Her lipstick was a sort of deep rose today, so her lips looked like a flower blooming over and over. Finally, she spluttered, “Well, no. Of course not.”
Now, that did surprise him. He arched a brow. “Really? You don’t think it’s your duty as an upstanding citizen?”
“I’m not an upstanding citizen. While I disapprove of nefarious but lucrative activities—”
Why did she have to say things like that just as he took a sip of coffee? She was going to make him choke.
“—it’s really none of my concern if you’re choosing to fill the city’s sky-high cocaine demand,” she said calmly. Apparently, some of her shock had faded now, because she pulled a box of cereal from the cupboard with only a single suspicious look at the money. “My concern is the children. And your imprisonment, while potentially deserved, would not be good for them.”
He was simultaneously pleased and offended. “It’s nice to hear that you’d put the kids’ happiness above law and order, but I can’t believe you think I deserve prison.”
“Oh for goodness sake, Nate,” she snapped, waving the cornflakes around. “Just tell me where you got all that money!”
“Now you’re auditing me?”
She glared. “I know you’re winding me up. I can see it all over your face.”
“Fine, fine! I don’t work much now, but I did okay when I was younger. I did great, actually. I’m a fine art photographer. So, I made a lot of money, Ellie invested it, blah blah.”
She appeared to think on that as she made her breakfast. “Fine art like… Cindy Sherman?”
For a second, he was surprised—but then he remembered that Hannah Kabbah’s magnificent mind knew at least a little bit about every topic on earth. “You like Cindy Sherman?”
“God, no,” she said. “But I know who she is. So, if you don’t work much, what is it you do all day?”
“Creative consultancy. Pays well.”
“Right. And you just keep all your money… in the kitchen?”
“No,” he corrected. “I keep fifty grand cash throughout the house.”
She gaped. “Why?”
“You know.” Nate shrugged, turning to get a spoon out of the drawer for her. “In case.”
“In case of what? Global banking collapse? Alien apocalypse? Full-scale identity theft? What?”
“Just… in case.” She gave him a baffled look, and he sighed. “I can’t just believe that I have money and we’re safe and everything’s okay. I have to see it. I have to touch it. Haven’t you